


no run of the mill talk jive

by Biggus Slickus (crownlessliestheking)



Series: at the end of the day [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Nothing is described in detail), Bickering, Bro Strider's A+ Parenting and Its Aftermath, Crack Treated Seriously, Dick Jokes, Discussions of parenting, Embarrassing 'Baby' Pictures, Failed Shovel Talks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Meet the Family, Mentions of Violence, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Polyamory, The Author's Self-Indulgence, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/Biggus%20Slickus
Summary: “Seagulls are agents of pure unhinged chaos and the world needs more of that, so I feed them,” Dirk says, like a complete fucking weirdo.“Me and Jeff Goldblum are the only agents of pure unhinged chaos the world needs,” you say, like a totally normal person.“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you,” Spades goddamn Slick says, like he’s going to personally bludgeon you both with something.You think this is pretty much the tone for the entire evening, to be honest.
Relationships: Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick, Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick/Dirk Strider, Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider & Dirk Strider, Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider & Roxy's Mom | Alpha Rose Lalonde, Spades Slick/Dirk Strider
Series: at the end of the day [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821157
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Imagine Dave meeting Dirk's boyfriend, expecting Generic College Twink #27 and in walks Spades fucking Slick."
> 
> I imagined. I took it too seriously, it spiralled. So now you get more details on Dave and more backstory tidbits.
> 
> Also this is a VERY different Alpha Dave than what I usually write, which is. Pretty fun, actually? Much closer to regular Dave, except not, and so I have concluded that HIC is not a fish alien in this fic. That's literally the thing I set in stone here. She's not a fish alien.

"He's late," you say, because it's true and also because it's making you kind of antsy. Look, there's nothing wrong with liking people to be on time, you're pretty sure it's normal as fuck for people to be on time.

"Technically not, I didn't tell him when to be here. And even if I did. He doesn't have any clocks at his place," your younger brother says, like that's totally normal, or like phones don't exist specifically for telling the time sometimes. Even if it's just by accident. You're honestly blocking out the concept of just, a house with no clocks at all. 

"What about the microwave, right? Or the oven? Electric stoves have clocks although I'm pretty sure they never work right. Is this guy telling time by electric stove clock instead of his phone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. Should you be more worried about this? You've never really known how to handle the concepts of Dirk and Dating combining into Dirk Is Dating Someone, and this- okay. Well, he hasn't said they're dating, just that they get along and the guy wants to meet you, which you kind of get because who doesn't, right? You're fmaous, you're That Guy. It's you. The star. 

The issue is that Dirk doesn’t usually just introduce you to random friends he’s met unless he’s sure about ‘em, and he’s never been this antsy about it since you were meant to meet Jake ages ago- and that was when they were dating and you’d already met him, but. Still. Although if he's trying to date your lil bro just to get at you, that's a whole other kettle of fish and you are going to boil it. If the fish are alive so be it, you're capable of weird seafood cruelty probably. That's how they do lobsters and shellfish although it wigs you the fuck out about the lobsters. Mostly because of that one movie you and Dirk watched. Personally you'd come back as something badass but Dirk told you that you'd be a bird of paradise and you can vibe with that. You can cut a rug so well it's shredded, baby. You piss all over the dance floor when you're out there. Sometimes literally but that was once on a dare and it was your dance floor so there was no real property damage, and really just your luck that Rose fuckin' caught it on camera. Like she doesn't have enough blackmail material on you already. You almost wish she'd break the piss video out because that's way better than the Freudian shit she tries. Okay, succeeds. But you're not going to admit it to her.

"Bro, I don't know how many times I need to explain he doesn't like clocks. And that you shouldn't tell him how late he is down to the second, either."

"I still don't get how someone can live a clockless life man, you wouldn't get anything done unless you're me and you know that time shit inside out since it's your most useless mundane superpower, like. Not even cool Stephen Strange Time Stone shit, just knowing it. Maybe a Time Seer. Maybe I'm the Broracle of Delphi, resurrecting ye olde tradition by being a prophet for the fuckin’ masses,” you suggest. “Iunno, it seemed like a pretty cushy job historically and also having the cursed spirit of Apollo inside me or whatever the fuck it was in Percy Jackson is something I’d deal with okay. Imagine my tweets, dude, they’d be so iconic.”

“I’ve read your haikus, I can believe that the cursed spirit of Apollo is already in you,” Dirk says, like the heathen he is about your fine art and your amazing wordplay. Haiku just doesn’t translate it right, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to put in all the effort to writing a sonnet. You’ve got better things to do with your life. It’s five hours of filibuster spoken word or nothing for you; the rest you’ll leave to Lalonde before she decides to off you or something for trying to muscle in on her schtick of homoerotic poetry. You’re never going to be any kind of modern Sappho, that’s for sure, but you figure modern Shakespeare would be alright given the sheer dick jokes to other dialogue ratio.

“Listen, you sweaty pubescent swine,” you start off, crossing your arms over your chest. “Apollo would shit himself with sheer pleasure if he was ever inside me, and that probably would fuck the whole experience up because I am in no way into it and tee-bee-aych it’s probably like, one of the few things I’m gonna take a real hard pass on trying.”

“Hard pass?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Better make it a soft and real unenthusiastic one, to be safe.”

“Don’t sass me, bro. My kinks are wild and varied and confusing and can only be listed in the vague awe and disgust David Attenborough uses when talking about elephant seals and walruses, but scat ain’t ever gonna be included so jot that one down.”

“You want me to write down your kinks? Dude, there’s a whole website dedicated to that, don’t make me play secretary. Sexcretary,” he corrects after a moment, before you can say it yourself.

“Quit plagiarising my ideas,” you say instead. “And I’m not using the fucking- weird furry website. What, am I gonna pull that shit out if I’m getting dicked down like hey let’s swap kinklists real quick- oh, that’s on your yes list but it’s on my maybes, sorry, not happening let me just get my pants on real quick, crawl out the window?”

“It’d sure make you feel a lot cheaper on the walk of shame,” he offers.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve hit rock bottom on the cheap and tacky scale, bro, I’m gonna level with you there. My twenties were _wild_ ,” you tell him, a faint close-mouthed smirk in place.

“I remember, yeah,” is all he says, and you’ve got a twinge of ‘oh shit, shouldn’t have said that’, all Hagrid style, but Dirk doesn’t offer anything damning you in either his face or verbally so you figure it’s alright. Parenting is _hard_ and you’re pretty sure you aren’t supposed to want your kid brother’s approval almost as much as he wants yours, and yet. Whatever. You’re chill and things are chill. “Probably not as wild as Aunt Rose’s,” he tacks on to the end of it. “I don’t think you had, uh. As much chaotic gay energy. Purportedly.”

“Allegedly, yeah,” you snort. “I’m telling you, man, she was the whole goth gf deal except she fully would commit homicide or something, shit was insane. At least now she knows how to wear eyeliner properly.”

“I don’t want her to astral project here and commit homiecide- well, nepoticide if we want to be real specific, but the pun doesn’t work as well- just because I agreed with you.” He lifts his palms all peaceable and anything, the suck-up. He and Rose get along too well and you hate it, but only because it means she’ll use him to check up on you, and that he can do a scary fucking good impression of her. It’s awful.

“What? C’mon, you agree with me all the time,” you protest. Because, well, it’s true. You and Dirk are on the same page about a whole fucking lot, when it comes right down to it. Nancho piles, slamwiches and slam battles, all the good shit. Enough that you forgive his godawful endless thirst for citrus carbonated hell. “You think I could do a Complacency movie. You think the script for it is good. Hell, you literally have a dong scale to rate my scripts these days, and I’m getting a lot of real turgid blingy bangrods which means my comedy is A++.”

“Not to say that your adaptation of CoTL wouldn’t be incredible, bro, but Lalonde will absolutely not let it happen even over her dead body, you know that. There’ll be some kind of-,” Dirk’s mid-sentence when the door opens, and he cuts himself off and everything to offer a wave as the guy walks in.

And when you say walks in you literally mean just straight up walks in, no knock on the door or anything. He just lets himself in and your first thought is ‘what the fuck is this a break in’, before you see him pocket what has to be a key.

Uh.

Okay. That’s a lot to process at once.

What the fuck? You don’t manage to say that one out loud, because out of all the people you might have expected, someone you’re 99% sure you’ve seen on a _wanted poster_ somewhere wasn’t one of them. Dude’s short, scrawny, rocking an honest-to-god eyepatch and what you can see is a nasty scar under it. Black blazer, black hat, and- one black glove? No, that’s his whole hand, that’s a prosthetic in gunmetal black too. You don’t even know what to think.

You have like five hundred thoughts right now and they’re all variations on the same ‘what the fuck is going on?’ theme. Shit like ‘Dirk you didn’t fucking _tell_ me’ and ‘oh god what the _fuck_ ’ and ‘did you make that arm is that some weird robot prosthetic meet cute thing?’, which are all things that you’re going to need answered but you don’t think you’re going to get answered right now.

Unfortunately, the one that wins out is the realization that yeah, this is definitely the dude Dirk’s expecting to show up, and the follow-up to that is that your shovel talk plans (okay, they were tentative at best for the first meeting but you still prepped for it because you’ve been waiting for this shit) are gone.

Not to say that you think you're amazing at the shovel talk, 'cause you haven't had much practice on anyone other than an eager guy in nightmarishly short shorts who was bizarrely easy to wind up, but. You made a PowerPoint for this one. You have puppets even though they suck ass. You have a whole fuckin’ scratch n' sniff section. So of course your brother is going to date(???) someone who you have zero chance of successfully shovel talking, ever, because he's terrifying and you're not and he knows it. He looks at you and you think you're the one in for a shovel talk, except the shovel isn't talking and you're dead. Oh, god, your brother's not-boyfriend might kill you.

And your kid brother sure ain’t offering any explanations or introductions, just watching the two of you with what you know is suppressed amusement. His mouth’s doing that thing where it only barely quirks up into a smile, and you can see it in his eyes anyway. He’s got a bad habit of doing that, and frankly, you blame extended exposure to Lalonde.

“’Sup,” you say, because you’re not going to just let him know he’s intimidating. Even though he absolutely is and he definitely knows it already. You’re just not going to let him know that you, personally, are intimidated. If this is what you know it is and Dirk keeps pretending it isn’t, he’s the one that’s meant to be intimidated by you. Sure, that whole prospect got booted the fuck out of the window when he walked in, but you can keep your cards about it close to your chest. “Dirk, you gonna offer the man something to drink? What happened to good old Southern horse brutality?”

Dirk gives you the same look at the shitty joke as he always does, and he rolls his eyes a little as he stands up.

“Remained in the South after I left, I’d assume,” he tells you, but he’s going to the kitchen anyway. “I’d never hurt a horse, bro, you know that.”

“Be a peach and get me more AJ?” you call out, laying your drawl on thick for effect. Not that you have to try hard to lay it on thick; you might sound more like a Valley boy sometimes than a Texan, but you’re not as good as Dirk as at hiding it entirely.

“Yessir,” he deadpans, heading right for the kitchen. But not before flipping you off. There’s a twitch on uh, the visitor’s face (and you’re going to need to keep thinking of him that way before you start flipping out, probably) that you think could be some kind of amusement, as he trails right after Dirk. Huh.

You figure that’s less awkward than trying to figure out small talk, which you’ve never been good at. The small part, that is. The talking part, you can handle just fine, but something tells you that this guy isn’t going to be the biggest fan of your nervous rambling. And it’s not too long before they’re both coming back anyway, Dirk with a glass of sweet, sweet AJ which he presents to you with an exaggerated bow, because he’s a little shit, and your bro’s guest with a bottle of water from the fridge.

There’s an awkward moment as the two of them remain standing and you realize oh, fuck, they don’t know where to sit, and that’s almost endearing enough to make you want to move. But this is also your fuckin’ spot on the couch and Dirk knows that. It has an imprint perfectly molded to your entire ass and none other, in true reverse Excalibur style. Eventually, Dirk sits next to you and the other guy situates himself in the cushy and hideous armchair that was your housewarming present, and you think it’s about time to actually be polite, probably.

You’re still not allowed to bring up the time (‘or anything related to time, bro, I’m serious here. Not until I give you the signal, trust me’, is what Dirk said, and if that didn’t have enough hallmarks of a prank to make even Egbert jealous, you don’t know what does), so instead you offer a cool, casual nod in greeting.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dirk’s bro. You can call me Dave, though,” you say, and you lean forward and everything to put your hand out for a shake.

“Nice meeting you too,” he says, grudgingly extending a hand to shake yours. His voice isn’t too unpleasant, a little hissy, a little- well. A little like every word’s being pulled out like he’s at the dentist and they’re getting teeth without the giggle gas.

God, you can feel your fingers creak, what the fuck kind of tight grip is this? And you know you’re no slacker about handshakes, you make it a whole-ass thing to squeeze real tight in general and intimidate the fuck outta nosy reporters who’re trying to get on your nerves. You can be intimidating when you want to, you just don’t do the physical aspect of it all that much. But there’s nothing like a real firm handshake for it when you need to. Lalonde calls it pointless posturing like she wouldn’t claw someone’s eyes out with her nails if she thought it’d get her where she wanted to be. Or if the someone was Guy Fieri.

He didn’t offer his name either and you don’t want to jump to conclusions or anything, so you just sort of prompt him with a, “And your name is…?”

He and Dirk exchange a look of- some kind, and you were absolutely fucking right about who this guy was, weren’t you, that’s just the final nail in the coffin.

“Ace Dick,” Dirk says, in an offendingly bad lie because it is _obviously_ the first thing that came to mind, and you know he knows you’ve put two and two together. ‘Ace Dick’ looks like he’s buffering between shocked and incandescently furious for a solid three seconds and you kind of want to take a picture of that because it’s a little funny. Okay, a lot funny.

“Nice to meet you, Dick,” you tell him, because while you don’t always play along with jokes- hell, you’re the one who’s starting them off, most of the time; Dirk’s definitely the straight man of your comedy duo-, you _do_ fucking love your weird-ass brother’s sense of humor. Especially when it ain’t at your expense. Does it strike you that this guy isn’t one who’s the butt of any kind of joke? Absolutely. But does that make you want to play along even more? _Fuck_ yes.

“I see why Dirk likes you so much,” you keep going, and you’re watching the both of them for sure as you talk.

“He tell you about me?” he asks, one eyebrow raising. Well, he’s got two eyebrows, so it’s the one that’s above the eye, not the eyepatch. Which you’re still kind of stuck on. You have a _really_ morbid curiosity about whether there’s an eye there or just empty socket and if the patch is to protect that from the wind. You’re definitely not going to ask him that- not now, anyway; it’s not a first meeting question. Maybe a second.

“Yeah, won’t shut up about you. Dude, I haven’t heard him gush that hard since the final episode of MLP Friendship is Magic, shit is insane. Can’t get his dumbass to shut the fuck up, I’m seriously considering shoving my whole entire foot in his mouth the next time he starts talking about how much he loves dick,” and bam, there’s the punchline. Dirk groans. Definitely-Ace-Dick looks like he’s seriously considering violence to your person.

You…don’t think he’s going to follow through on it, though. Least, not with Dirk there. Why is this a thing you suddenly need to deal with and worry about?

“You’re turnin’ me homophobic,” he tells Dirk, eye (or, eyes? You can’t tell) narrowed.

“It’s Dirkphobic, at this point,” Dirk shrugs, and takes a sip of his soda. “And I warned you already about him.”

Now that’s just plain rude that only one of you had any kind of advance warning. Well, okay, you got told ‘this guy I see sometimes might come over this evening if that’s cool’, which, while not a _lie_ , is definitely not a statement that encompasses all of what’s going on here. And sure, you did get told to not be too big an asshole, or talk about time too much, but still. That also doesn’t cover anything that’s going on. You don’t even know all of what is going on here, actually. You don’t even know if you want to know all of what’s going on here.

“That I’m so fucking awesome? Yeah, people do need to be warned about that shit,” you say instead, and take another sip of juice. “I’m like the sun, dude, can’t stare directly at me for too long.”

“I think that’s just because of how tacky you dress, bro.”

“No, it’s because of how hot and awesome I am,” you correct him. “Which of us was voted Sexiest Man Alive again?”

“You were runner up and it was an off year,” Dirk says, because he’s such a fucking buzzkill when it comes down to it. You roll your eyes, safe behind your shades. “So, neither of us.”

“Got way closer than you did,” you point out, because you’re petty and it’s true. “And anyway, I’ll win it one of these days. Rig the vote for me. Schmooze- whoever the fuck is in charge of it. Long as it’s not Anna Wintour, because let’s just say I’m not getting any more Met Gala invites after the last one. And I followed the theme so well, dude, shit is mad unfair. I’m not gonna grovel before her Edna Mode-looking ass but damn if I won’t crash the party if I need to.”

“Anna Wintour is going to have you assassinated one day for your crimes against fashion,” your absolute traitor brother says.

“Your other aunt’s going to have _you_ assassinated one day for your crimes against fashion,” you tell him right back.

“Actually, she might burn me at the stake if I wear the Converse around her,” he adds, with a smile so small you’re pretty sure only you catch it. “Or, y’know. Any of my regular wardrobe.”

“Not wearin’ the shitty specs,” your guest says abruptly, turning to Dirk. Is that a question? You think it’s a question, you also don’t think it’s going to be answered. Dirk blinks over at him, and raises an eyebrow.

“What of it? I don’t when Dave’s around.” Okay, it was answered with way less horseshittery than you were expecting. Add that to the list of Things That Make Dave Go Hmmmm.

“’S real considerate of you. Didn’t know you were capable’a that,” he says, and you’d be laughing at the sick burn if your brain hadn’t stuck on ‘considerate.’ You know why it’s considerate. You’re fuckin’ grateful for it, for sure, and you know that Dirk knows it wigs you out when you see shades of that shape and size on someone.

(Especially him, especially now that he’s older, but- you’ve told him before that it’s fine and it doesn’t bother you and you both know that you’re lying a little bit because it does, but on the other hand? It’s Dirk. That’s your kid brother- practically your fucking kid, if you’re being honest, not that you’re going to _say_ that out loud or anything. You know him, you did your best to raise him, and it’s not his fault you startle when you see him in your peripheral vision sometimes because you startle when anyone does that.)

Off tends to be alright. But that’s not the point. Point is, you don’t know why _he_ thinks it’d be considerate. Well, there’s only the one reason why he would, but Dirk’s not really the talking type about all that shit- least, not with anyone who ain’t a professional or you. That’s- interesting, you guess? You don’t know how to feel about it. “Y’should show me some of that shit, keep those ugly fuckin’ things off your face more.”

“Part of the brand, bro,” Dirk just shrugs, and the way he says it is four shades off _your_ usual insolence and a little bit smugger, so you’re pretty fucking proud of that even if you’re still a bit shaken. Whatever, you’ve had worse- way worse, in fact. You’re cool.

“Least y’don’t wear them at night like a total fuckin’ freak,” he says. Grudging. You resist the urge to smirk, because you’re not gonna do that with company, but you can smirk without making any real facial expression anyway. It’s an art. You’re a talented fucker, what can you say?

“You say that now, but at 13? Kid was inseparable from those weeb-ass shades,” you break in, and Dirk narrows his eyes at you some. You do your best to seem innocent- and while your best is considerable, innocent you are not, so it doesn’t work.

“I can’t believe you’re already itching to break out the shitty pics you have of younger me. C’mon, dude.”

“Kiddo, I am always one hundred percent ready to break out the shitty baby Dirk pics. Baby’s first fursuit is on my fuckin’ wall, bro, you know that. Neon orange and everything, like a thousand highlighters pissed their life out on that weird horse onesie.”

“…Technically it was a kigurumi,” he sighs, and if that’s not sweet victory, then you don’t know what is.

“I’m not a fucking weeb, kiddo, they’re all onesies to me,” you tell him.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting,” the other guy says to the room at large, but he’s looking at Dirk and sounds what you think is angry but resigned about it. “Why the fuck would a horse be orange? Why do you wanna dress up like one? Fuckin’ furry.”

“Dressing up like one is a fair chunk of being a fuckin’ furry. Least, the kind who doesn’t want to just stick to fanart,” Dirk says. “But- nah, after that disaster-,” and here he shoots you a sour look for even bringing it up, but you’re unrepentant as fuck about it, “-I pretty much decided that art was the best, and appreciating other people’s fursuits at cons. I can’t wear my shades properly inside the heads, anyway.”

“Better just stick to pony play. Wee snaw and all that,” you deadpan. Dirk gives you a look that says ‘are you dead set on embarrassing me today, bro?’, to which the answer is always going to be a resounding yes. You’re his older brother, it’s your entire prerogative. That, and to occasionally noogie him, but you only get those opportunities when he’s working or half asleep, and he’s all on guard right now. You’ve learned how to bide your time with this one, which is great, because you can’t always be on the lower hand with Rose _and_ him. That’d be embarrassing as fuck.

“Try t’stick a bridle or whatever on me and you’re gonna regret it,” ‘Ace Dick’- oh, who the fuck are you kidding, you know who he is and you don’t need to pretend not to for the sake of a joke to yourself. Maybe for the sake of your sanity, but not for a joke. Either way, he makes that sound so fucking ominous you actually turn to Dirk to get your cue of How The Fuck To React from him.

“No? What about a harness? A bit? I feel like you need the latter sometimes,” is what he says, and okay, you’re not going to be reacting that way to anything ever in your entire life. Realistically speaking.

“Wow, that’s a real elaborate way to tell someone to shut the fuck up, bro,” you drawl out instead. “I’m wounded, y’know that? All I get is ‘Dave what the fuck is wrong with you’, or ‘Dave, shut your fat mouth I’m trying to work here’, or ‘Dave, I will literally shove this entire ball of wire in your mouth and then we’ll both be in the ER.’ Me, your own brother, you treat like garbage that way.”

You think your, uh, guest simmers down from burn-the-house-down-and-you-along-with-it mad to just regular spitting mad, with maybe a dash of confusion, and you’re fine with that.

“I only treat you like the raging dumpster fire of a man you are,” Dirk tells you, entirely deadpan.

“Yeah, but I’m a beautiful raging dumpster fire and you know it. People would fucking buy tickets to warm their hands on my flames, bro, c’mon. They’d fork over even more dough to add something to the mess. Catharsis, bro.”

“I’d fork over more dough to toss gasoline into the mix,” Dirk says.

“Fuck you if you think I’m payin’ for any of that shit,” Totally-Ace-Dick says.

“You’re ruining my business model,” you tell the both of them, “But it’s a good thing that everyone else wants a fine slice of this performance art.”

“Or they want to re-enact the Salem Witch Trials,” Dirk grumbles.

“Hell no, I’m no witch. It’s Lalonde that’d be there, except I doubt she’d burn. You’d need to land a damn house on her, realistically speaking,” you say.

“Lalonde. That’s your aunt? Scarf girl’s ma?” You’re not sure if he’s trying to be subtle about asking that, to be honest. “The one you’re on the phone with.”

“Mhm, that’s her. She always wants to talk on the phone, I don’t know why she won’t just text me like a normal person,” he sighs.

“It’s ‘cause Grim’s a witch and demon spawn or whatever and specifically likes to fuck with our heads.”

“Speak for yourself, some of us make it a whole easier than others. I don’t go around calling people daddy and mommy on the regular.” Sniffy brat. You flip him off.

“Stop kinkshaming me in front of your boyfriend, what the fuck,” you say.

“I’m- not his boyfriend. What the fuck’re you saying I’m his boyfriend,” definitely your brother’s boyfriend says, although to his credit he seems genuinely shocked by the whole deal. Which, y’know. Literally just makes you more confused. Okay, they’re not actually dating, but there’s no way in hell they’re not anything. Some guy he’s been seeing, your sweet, Armani-clad ass.

“He’s definitely not,” Dirk agrees, frowning over at you just a little. “But I do try to kinkshame you in front of everyone you meet, so I don’t think this one’s out of the norm.”

“Yeah, well, that’s only a good strategy on someone who’s capable of being ashamed of their kinks, and that ain’t me, broseph,” you shrug it off.

“You’re not ashamed of anything,” Dirk says like this is a real hardship for him instead of a pretty cool thing about you. You guess it might be, but, well. You’ve known Rose for ages now. It’s hard to be ashamed at this point.

“I’m ashamed of one thing every five years and Rose already got at me last year for spelling her name wrong on her birthday gift like that wasn’t a whole ironic shtick. But it’s also real like her to shame me for irony and my talents.” Your family is so difficult sometimes it actually hurts. Everyone really is a critic.

“I might be ashamed t’be havin’ this damn conversation,” “““Ace Dick””” says. Well, snarls might be a more accurate statement, there’s a lot of angry teeth in there for just plain saying.

“Well shit, man, we can be better hosts about it and let that conversation train move on away from Shame Station. So, like. Are you gonna tell me anything about yourself or what?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow up at him. “’Cause this is gonna be real awkward if you just sit here dead silent. That never helps with the embarrassment, or so I hear. I, as we just established, don’t do shame. Or embarrassment. I make other people feel both of those things, and while I’m not that good at ventriloquism or impressions but I could probably do a half-decent one of you if I channelled my inner angry danger noodle, as the kids say, and then it just gets way worse.”

He, of course, sits there dead silent as he tries to probably process all of what you just said. Or maybe the best way to flay you alive, you’re not sure.

“The kids don’t say that anymore. It died along with ‘doge’, ‘doggo’, and ‘pupper’,” Dirk says, unimpressed.

“Well they’re gonna by the time I start using it,” you tell him. “So tough shit, bro, you can’t keep down the beat of pop culture. I’m famous and you’re damn right I’m gonna use it to singlehandedly bring the term ‘danger noodle’ right into use. That and like, ‘poisonous mobile throats’. Or ‘snek.’ Snek’s still a thing, right? Fuck, man, if it isn’t a thing I’m gonna need to campaign real hard because it’s only two letters off from Shrek and our green man doesn’t deserve to have that fade from memory. And you know I can do that ‘cause folks are still saying shit like ‘birb’ and you know that’s because of me and my man birdsrightsactivist on Twitter so don’t even front.”

“People still say snek, don’t worry. You can unclench and let go of those church lady pearls, bro.” Him ignoring the birb thing is a concession that you’re right and you steadfastly refuse to believe otherwise. Power of denial, baby.

“Please, the only pearl necklace I wear ain’t the kind you can clutch at,” you say, and Dirk rolls his eyes.

“Like you’re gonna get any dick thirsting after Stiller’s weird, gaunt face.”

“He is fucking hauntingly attractive, will you get off my ass about it already? I mean, Jesus, bro, don’t act like you weren’t excited as fuck to meet him too.” You point a finger at Dirk, and he swats it away.

“I was eleven and a real life movie set was exciting at the time,” he shrugs, like he wasn’t vibrating with excitement the whole time. You have a whole blurry picture to prove it. Not blurry because you were secretly taking it to commemorate the day or anything and he was (and still) is _real_ antsy about anyone that isn’t you pointing a camera at him, but because he was vibrating with excitement so fast. It was fucking adorable, not that you’re gonna tell him that.

“It was a real good set,” you tell him. “I’ve got the pics. Baby’s first real Hopywoodo howdydoo.”

“Creep. Like that album isn’t 95% you taking selfies next to random camera equipment. And getting the stars in the very corners of them.”

“It’s an art, kiddo, you’re too much of a pleb to understand,” you sigh, dramatic, and slouch lower in your seat. You accidentally catch Definitely-Ace-Dick’s gaze and even through your shades you almost want to squirm. But you’ve stared down way scarier (okay, maybe not scarier by that much objectively speaking, but scarier to you personally) so you meet his eyes evenly. “What’s up, doc?” you ask him.

“Nothing. I play piano. You got those pics with you?” he asks, tacking it on to the tail end of an answer you hadn’t been expecting. Piano’s- not something you’d associate with a guy like him; piano is John practicing and you elbowing in to mess him up deliberately, and then later on him patiently teaching Dirk on a visit and you hovering awkwardly in the doorway to watch them go through Chopsticks for the nth time with the kid staring all focused and intent on the keys.

“Literally always,” you tell him, and you shake the memories off real easy as you get your phone out. You’ve got the album and shit all ready on the Cloud which you know how to use because you’re a functioning human and not technophobic and also not just because Roxy sold you on it. You also have your sad, now useless PowerPoint on there but you’re not going to be broadcasting that until later. You need to workshop it. Somehow.

He comes over, hovers at your shoulder in what you think is awkward but also extremely intense as you start to flip through the pictures. You think he thinks he’s trying to be unobtrusive about it but he’s also glaring at the screen, so you just keep a real tight grip on your phone before it pays for offending him. You literally have no idea how it could offend him, but you’re taking no risks. This thing has Flappy Bird on it, after all.

“Christ, you were fuckin’ tiny. Why didn’t you stay that damn short,” you-can’t-even-jokingly-pretend-he’s-Ace-Dick-when-he’s-staring-daggers-at-your-phone says, and that’s clearly aimed at Dirk rather than you.

“Why didn’t you grow more,” Dirk asks, except he sounds way more agreeable about it. You’re close enough to hear the muttered curses on that one, and- okay, fine, you’re taking some mental notes. Dude’s got a hell of a head for invective, you’ll award him a single point for it. Just one, though- can’t be getting too generous.

“Yeah, man, he was baby,” you agree, and ruffle Dirk’s hair with your free hand to be obnoxious. You’re not getting into any brotherly feels right now, nope. Dirk’s all elbows and knees and freckles there, with a mop of hair and shades that kept sliding down his dumb little dorkass nose. “Dude looks like a disgruntled baby bird in this one, check it. That was- what, three weeks after he moved in with me? Shitty starter apartment with me and my best friend.”

Dirk peeks over your shoulder at the picture in question. “Oh, yeah, I remember that. John tried to make cake.”

“Y’can cook, though.” It’s not a question, really, even if it sounds real fucking dubious.

“I’m not gonna lie, bro, he might’ve been the most culinarily capable person in that apartment and he was like a decade and some change younger than us two idiots. But baking’s never been his strong point,” you say, gesturing a little bit at the picture. It’s Dirk absolutely covered in flour, his hair sticking up at all angles, cake batter splattered all over his front. He’s not even emoting but the way he’s looking into the camera like he’s on the Office? Fucking priceless. John’s in the background, laying on the floor with the mixing bowl on his head.

“Yeah. To be fair, I wasn’t even the one who made all the mess. Egbert started it,” Dirk says. “There was flour _everywhere_. And the batter dried in my hair. And it didn’t even taste good. I was looking forward to licking the bowl and let me tell you, I’ve never been so disappointed in all my life.”

“John Egbert like the comedian?” ‘Ace Dick’ asks, and he sounds weirdly interested in it, actually.

“Yeah,” you answer, raising an eyebrow over at him. “We’re good friends. Don’t see each other much these days, but we’re also both real fucking busy these days. Far cry from the cooking horror stories.”

“You’re the dumb fuckin’ roommates from his early shows,” he says, with a dawning realization that you don’t like. Especially since it sounds impressed. Real grudgingly impressed, but it’s there nonetheless. He won’t be starstruck by you, but he’ll be starstruck by your dumbass best bro? This seems unfair.

“Unfortunately so, yeah,” Dirk sighs, shaking his head a little. “A real burden.”

“What the fuck. You really try and make a sentient toaster?”

“It wasn’t sentient, it had a kill switch,” Dirk says, like that’s any kind of good defense.

“Christ.” He sounds- well, harrowed, but also thoughtful about it. “Bits made you sound like a whole fuckin’ adult. You were a weird-ass kid, huh.”

“Pretty sure I’m a weird-ass adult, to be fair,” Dirk says mildly.

“Of fuckin’ course you like his shitty comedy,” you grumble, mostly to yourself. “He’s like an old man. Corny bastard.”

“’S classic humor. Not that old insensitive shit people try ‘n say is humor but the fuckin’ kind that lasts.” This one’s said decisively, and you sure did learn a thing you weren’t expecting to learn today. You agree with him, of course; John’s got a weird sort of appeal, a mix of millennial laughs with an old time charm, and you don’t really know how it works, but it does. You need cultural context, sure, but even his old live sets from twenty years ago at tiny little comedy clubs and bars have aged well.

“He’s a huge fuckin’ dork and had a weird, obsessive crush on Nic Cage when he was younger,” you say, equally decisive. You’re not just going to slander Dirk here, you’re bringing everyone down that you can. Also, the Nic Cage thing is common knowledge, you’re pretty sure your relentless mockery of it made it right into several dumb bits.

You flip to the next picture, and you’re not smiling or anything because you’ve got company, but this one’s pretty good.

“What? What is that?” Dirk asks, clearly accusing as he narrows his eyes over at you. Oh, man, you’d forgotten he didn’t know about this one.

“Exactly what it looks like, kiddo,” you say, with no small amount of glee. “You, eating wasabi for the first time.”

“You fucking told me it was avocado, you dick. You put it on _toast_ ,” he grumbles. “And why do you even have a picture of that? Give it here, gotta delete it-,”

“Okay, John put it on toast and got me like fifteen minutes before, and you shouldn’t have believed me. And- what? Fuck no, this is comedy gold,” you protest, leaning right away from his grabby hands and holding the phone above your head. It’d work if Dirk wasn’t tall, fucking determined, and apparently fully willing to put his whole hand over your face and push. You lick his hand and regret nothing when he makes a disgusted noise and recoils.

“No, nope, you’re going to delete that right now,” he tells you, and you lean all the way back.

“Hell no, this shit is going in the family album, I’m making a fucking poster of it, dude, framing that and hanging it up on the wall. Dirk Strider Hall of Fame, best moments, recorded for posterity- hey, dude, just take it before he grabs this and it’s lost for good,” you say, as Dirk’s crawled half on top of you with his knee in your fucking stomach. You smack uselessly at his face and he tries to bite your finger and you try and pull his hair instead because Christ, dude, have some chill, you’ve got a guest. You tell him that and he tells you to stop embarrassing him.

“You’re embarrassin’ your own damn self right now,” comes the voice of said guest, but he does pluck the phone from your hand so at least that’s safe. “Ha. Your fuckin’ face in this. Didn’t know it could even move that much. ‘m sendin’ myself a copy.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Dirk grumbles, but he at least sits up properly. You do the same thing, except you smooth out your suit and readjust your shades too. And- yeah, he really is sending himself a copy, isn’t he. Wild.

“Point out the ones you want and I’ll text the rest later,” you tell him, because if you can’t do the shovel talk you can do this, and Dirk’s face is pinker with embarrassment than he’ll ever admit so you’re doing _something_ right.

“Aight. Do the next one. I wanna see- what, the ugly-ass Christmas trees. Yeah.” He passes the phone back and everything for it. Demanding, you think to yourself, except it’s a little bit endearing that he’s this interested. Even if it’s just for blackmail material (well, the teasing kind, you’re pretty sure?), you’re okay with that.

“Give me a sec,” you mumble, skipping through the rest of the pictures. You do pause on one for your birthday, though, the earliest one you’ve got of you and Dirk together, posing in front of a cake that you’re pretty sure weighed more than the both of you combined. You’re covered in bright green goo, and Dirk’s freshly clean, stone-faced and a little uncertain as he faces the camera. You’d smeared a frosting flower right in his face afterwards. For tradition, and fun. That picture’s right after, the icing smudging against his shades and right across the bridge of his nose, his face scrunched up in horror. Your face had gone into the second cake moment’s later because even at ten he was a vindictive little shit.

“Oh, I remember that. First birthday cake,” he says. “Well, second. The first one exploded in slime when we cut into it so we went to shower. I’m pretty sure the slime was edible, but it was just gross.”

“Yeah, you lost the notion of Mr. E being cool real quick when that happened. John had to have gotten it from somewhere, kiddo,” you say, fond. “And I think you mean you bitched so much about being sticky that we had to let you go shower.”

“I was the birthday boy,” he says, unrepentant.

“So was I,” you point out. “And I didn’t care about slime or frosting because that shit was tasty. I’d have cloned myself just to lick myself clean.”

“…Ignoring everything fuckin’ wrong about that statement. You got the same birthday?” You startle a little; this guy’s pretty quiet in comparison to you and Dirk (and okay, dead silent in comparison to you), and so this kind of surprises you every time he decides to say something- well, more accurately demand answers instead of asking questions, like he wants to know all this shit but is real aggressive about it-, but you manage not to show it.

“Yeah,” you tell him instead. “Weird coincidence. And it’s like one day off from the Lalonde birthdays.”

“Basically, December’s a hell of a month for us,” Dirk says. He reaches over to skip on over to the Christmas pictures, and you keep a good hold on your phone.

“Here they are,” you announce. “Merry Shitscram.”

“That’s the ugliest goddamn tree I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Only ‘cause you’ve never seen any of the _other_ trees,” Dirk says, sounding pleased with himself. As he should be, since last year’s tree was a total clusterfuck of beauty and pixels.

“I got one eye and you’re tryna blind me with this shit, ain’tcha,” he snarls, his whole face screwed up in disgust, which is actually pretty fucking funny. He really _hasn’t_ seen the other trees, but boy, is he in for a treat. A treet. Dave Strider, comedy genius, strikes again.

“This is probably the best of the lot,” you tell him, and you don’t bother to not smirk while you do. It just makes him sneer harder.

“You literally asked for this, my dude,” Dirk says, all too amused.

“Quit fuckin’ victim blamin’ me, you wasabi-eatin’ idiot.”

“Look, that was once, and I didn’t know it was wasabi. I like wasabi now.”

“Then you’re a goddamn masochist freak.”

“Never denied that one.”

“I like shaming you and all, bro,” you interject, a little pointedly, because you’ve been around couples before and you know where this is going, probably. “But there’s some shit y’all can keep to yourselves.”

“Like you don’t want a rundown of all the sordid details over shitty cocktails and a nancho stack,” Dirk says, equally pointedly. Which, okay fair, but that’s bro time and a debrief, and the nancho stack is absolutely fucking sacred. There’s no need for him to be a traitor.

“Not all the sordid details, there’s only so much I can handle knowing about the weird, horse-related details of your sex life, kiddo,” you say. You aren’t sure it’s much of a defense, but it’s what you’ve got.

“And I could’ve lived without knowing your weird anthrod furry space girl dream existed, but here we are.”

“That was a confusing yet deeply erotic dream, broski, totally different from you saddling up in the bedroom.”

“Me saddling up in the bedroom is arguably better than shit you’re only going to find in niche, low-budget hentai.”

“Better link me that niche, low-budget hentai so I can up the budget.”

“How long’ve I got left?” The other guy breaks in and shit, you did forget about him for a second, didn’t you? Whoops. You realize that was definitely not a normal conversation to have in front of any other human being, but you don’t think Dirk would’ve let it go on too long. Probably. Hopefully.

Said other human’s looking real aggrieved about either having to listen to that, or asking his question in general, but it was aimed at Dirk rather than you, you’re pretty sure, because you had no clue there was any deadline on this at all.

Dirk pulls out his phone to check what you have to assume is the time, before answering, “Twenty minutes or so. He’ll be here soon.”

His ears have gone pink, he definitely got carried away with talking to you about kinks and weird hentai and now he’s embarrassed. Well, at least you’re not alone in that boat, and at least he’s alone in the boat of actually showing it.

“Aight.”

“Who’ll be here soon?” you venture, latching onto that conversation shift. You’re also genuinely curious- you’re not sure you can handle three more of this guy but shaped different. Honestly, you don’t think the universe could handle it.

And instead of answering the two of them just exchange a look. Which, you have no clue what that’s supposed to be, and you’re probably not meant to have a clue, but it’s kind of endearing but also kind of unnerving. Especially since this look is the ‘unsure of what to say’ from Dirk, and then ‘fuck you and everything else that exists on this shithole of a planet’, probably, from the other guy. Well, maybe it’s not, you don’t know what he’s thinking. But that’s definitely an undercurrent that’s there. It’s the vibes.

“His romantic entanglement,” Dirk finally says, and you’re 90% sure he’s saying that to both confuse the hell out of you, and to piss his _own_ romantic(???) entanglement off, and damn if it doesn’t work.

“Don’t fuckin’ call him that,” he growls out, and of fucking course your kid brother just offers his smuggest smirk ever. It’s smugger than yours and you’ll never forgive him for that, but you digress. You can kind of see the appeal- not that you’re trying to be Mr. Steal Yo Man or anything, but Dirk’s always liked pushing buttons and pushing in general and you’re like 90% this guy not only is gonna give as good as he gets, but also ain’t gonna let him get away with too much. And you know that’s important, too. More so to Dirk than it is to you, but fuck if you don’t want that dumb shit to be happy because he deserves it.

Not that you’re gonna get caught dead being openly supportive if no one’s crying. But still. God, that implies that you’ve ever seen Dirk shed a tear that wasn’t over a cartoon horse or Jake English dumbass extraordinaire.

“Fine. His- work colleague. Totally professional relationship,” Dirk says, heavy enough on the sarcasm that he doesn’t even need to add air quotations or an eye roll. It’s implied, real good. Actually, it’s stamped across every single word, you could mail that shit out ironically if you wanted to.

“Better,” he says, grudging as fuck. You’re pretty sure that’s just his usual state at this point, though.

“How come I didn’t get to meet the work colleague?” you ask, kind of genuinely wondering now. Well, genuinely and also morbidly curiously wondering. Sure, you’re not sure you want to, but you do want to know what they’ll say about it.

“He didn’t wanna get off his lazy fuckin’ ass to see people,” is one response, hissed out between teeth. You cut a glance over at Dirk, who’s looking faintly amused in the way that makes you think the answer is bullshit, but he ain’t selling anyone out, so you guess you’ll have to deal with it.

“Pretty sure he figured he’d be able to chat some when he came to pick this one up. Two birds, one stone kind of deal,” Dirk says, which isn’t any kind of a contradiction, but isn’t a real answer either.

“Don’t go murdering birds on my watch, dude, I’ll report your ass to animal cruelty,” you say, all faux-outrage. Well, it’s faux-outrage about the bird thing because you know what proverbs are, but it’s mild real outrage that you’re pretty sure there’s more going on than what Dirk’s gone and told you. Not that someone else being involved means that Dirk’s involved with that someone else, but still. The way he pokes at it is kinda interesting. Makes you go ‘hmmmm.’

“I’d never.”

“He goes and feeds ‘em, but I doubt he’s tryna fatten the feathery fucks up for evil shit,” Mr. Romantic Entanglement says, contemptuous.

“Feeding birds is totally fucking normal, thanks,” Dirk says, before you can get too bristly over it. There’s not much heat in his tone or anything, so you figure this is probably something they bicker about a lot.

“Feeding regular birds is normal. I don’t know why the fuck you always feed the seagulls in LA,” you correct. “They don’t need your help, all they do is steal people’s food and be annoying.”

“Seagulls are agents of pure unhinged chaos and the world needs more of that, so I feed them,” Dirk says, like a complete fucking weirdo.

“Me and Jeff Goldblum are the only agents of pure unhinged chaos the world needs,” you say, like a totally normal person.

“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you,” Spades goddamn Slick says, like he’s going to personally bludgeon you both with something for making him be the only normal person in the room.

You think this is pretty much the tone for the entire evening, to be honest.

“I think the real question is this, dude,” Dirk says, and he smirks at you so you smirk right back over at him. He extends his curled fist for a truly goddamn epic bunp, which of course you return.

“Why are we so fucking awesome?” You complete, and raise an eyebrow at him.

Your visitor has the kind of angry despair on his face of any man who’s wondering what the fuck he got himself into, and fuck if that’s not a normal enough reaction to the two of you that it makes you want to crack up a little bit.

“You think you’re funny, don’tcha,” he bites out.

“Hilarious, actually,” you correct, completely straight-faced.

“Think a-fuckin’-gain,” he damn near snarls, and you’d be more freaked out if Dirk was also freaked out and if you didn’t actually find this situation absurd and funny, because he sounds so damn _angry_. God fucking bless.

“Bold of you to assume he even thinks once,” Dirk says, neatly flinging your poor ass under the bus.

“Must be genetic, huh,” he sneers back. Oh, that was a sick burn. “Ain’t like you use any’a your brain cells, kid.”

“I use them plenty, just not for anything practical,” Dirk shrugs. “Gotta save them for triggering the AI apocalypse. Elon Musk hates me. But that’s alright because I fucking despise him.”

“That’s true,” you jump back in neatly. “Every single time he visits I live in fear that Elon’s going to get the shit kicked outta him by my dumbass robofucker brother.”

“Someone’s gotta kick the shit outta him,” he mutters darkly.

“If you fucked a robot I’m gonna kick the shit outta _you_ ,” comes the retort, which you figure is well-deserved. Not just because you don’t want to be the only one getting kinkshamed. It’s about damn time someone else in this family got bullied that way.

“Bottom line. Don’t fuck robots,” you conclude. And you see him opening his mouth and you’re not ready for a defense on robot sex, so you just keep talking. “Like I didn’t include that when I did your sex talk and shit, but in hindsight? I sure fucking should have, dude. Lots of beeps and boops would’ve added to it, yeah?”

“That was probably the most traumatizing thing that’s ever happened to me,” Dirk says, completely straight faced despite his absolute lie.

“It was a work of art. A masterpiece. And you don’t have an STD _and_ you’ve never gotten anyone teenage pregnant or gotten teenage pregnant yourself, so that’s a hell of a success story. Go on, bro, challenge me on this. I dare you.”

“Scratch and sniff panels for the STDs scarred me for life.”

“And the puppets made it better. I had my whole hand in puppet ass for you, be grateful.”

“They were fuckin’ sock puppets, you put your hand in a sock, that’s normal.”

“None of this is fuckin’ normal,” yeah-it’s-Spades-Slick-no-one-is-fooled grumbles, mostly to himself. “How much more’a this is there?”

“Chill,” Dirk tells him. “You asked for this one.”

“Yeah, that was when I thought you weren’t this goddamn weird and he was just some famous asshole. Instead you fuckers’re freakier together. I want my goddamn money back. I didn’t sign up for this shit,” he huffs out, arms crossed over his chest. Having only the one eye visible really doesn’t do much to make that glare less intimidating, you have to admit.

“No refunds, sorry,” Dirk shrugs. “You were warned, bro.”

“You were warned about the stairs,” you add, because what’s the point of being famous if you can’t be obnoxiously self-referential anyway?

“ _Fuck_ the stairs and fuck you both,” he sneers back.

“What, two romantic entanglements aren’t enough, you want me getting in on this action too?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. You’re being an asshole and you know it, but the joke is _right_ there, you can’t not make it. He’s set himself up for it. You don’t even regret it when he looks completely fucking murderous in your direction, to be honest.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not. Choke.”

“Aw, now you’re just hurting my feelings,” you say.

“So fuckin’ what. One of you assholes is enough. The fuck’d I do with two,” he asks. The glare intensifies.

“Fuck us, apparently,” Dirk chimes in.

“Don’t-,” he starts to snarl, and then changes his mind. Not about the snarling, but about what he’s gonna say, because instead he goes, “I fuckin’ hate your guts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” your brother answers, dismissive and casual. And very nearly fond, actually. Huh.

You’re now pretty sure that doesn’t mean what it’s supposed to mean, regardless of how pissed off he sounds when he says it. But you’re not going to bring any of that up, because, well. The whole romantic entanglement thing is one you don’t have your head around just yet, and you’re really, really fucking curious, but you know you’ve gotta bug Dirk about it first. Not now, though.

There’s a knock on the door, firm but polite, and Dirk’s up to go answer it just about immediately, leaving the two of you alone. You hear the slight creak of it opening, the murmur of conversation behind you.

“He talks a lot about you. Was good t’meet you,” he finally says as he stands up, just quiet enough that Dirk probably won’t hear it. He sounds pretty stiff, like he’s not used to saying stuff like that. “’N if you want anyone taken care of, lemme know. ‘Specially relatives.”

“No,” you say, immediately, before you even really process it.

“Didn’t mean the kid,” he tells you. Impatient, like he hasn’t just offered to straight up murder someone for you. With plausible deniability, sure, but what else would it be, right? And- okay, not just someone, someone specific, and you know he didn’t mean Rose or Dirk or anything, not after that shades comment earlier and not after seeing him and Dirk snipe at each other all night and not after him knowing a lot more than you thought he did.

“No. I know. But- no.” You really still don’t know how to process this one so you just let your mouth run. “Murder’s pretty fuckin’ illegal and I’m not hiring any hitmen or whatever, and yeah, I know you’re not technically a hitman but like, these are hitman services you’re offering I’m pretty sure, because I doubt you’re gonna take the dude in question on over to the day spa for some pampering.”

“…Y’talk so goddamn much,” he sighs out. There’s- you don’t know how much bite there is to that. You really don’t, you’re still just shoving all of that down because he knows, why does he know, why did Dirk just _tell_ him. You can’t believe Dirk’s been trying to play this off as ‘just some guy’, when it’s clear it ain’t, and that even if you were right about the dating thing they’re- well. It’s gotta be more than that, if they’re talking about that shit, except you don’t even think this has been going on that long, and has Dirk finally dove right the fuck off the deep end? Is this a meltdown of some kind?

“It was. Good meeting you, too,” you tell him, out of a sheer lack of anything better to say. Dirk’s chatting with yet another guy in a black hat, except this one’s taller, maybe a little older than him (definitely not older than you, you’re pretty sure), but you’re still going to empathize real hard with the little streaks of silver hair at his temples because you’re pretty sure if anyone could drive a man to grey hair, it’d be the other two dudes in the room. He’s also wearing a real fuckin’ nice suit, so you crane your neck a little to see him better and maybe also wonder who the hell his tailor is, because _damn_ is that fitted perfectly. It’s a good distraction, you cling to it.

Unfortunately, this means that you also get a half-decent view of Dirk grabbing his tie and yanking him down into a brief kiss, a smirk playing across his face, and ugh. You’re not supposed to see that, or even think about it, because of course your kid fuckin’ brother wasn’t just going to not-date one professional Scary Dude, but two. If it’s a meltdown, he’s sure having a good time about it. Your PowerPoint aspirations were already flushed down the toilet, now they’re gone to the sewers and are currently in some weird alien clown-spider’s domain and they sure ain’t doing any floating down there, that’s for sure. RIP. Dirk’s never done anything by the halves; kid’s gonna give you grey hair. Not that you have any right now. No. You don’t. You might have some after this evening, but it’s Schrodinger’s grey hair in that you haven’t looked so they don’t exist.

“Stop bein’ fuckin’ gross over there,” he hisses out, enough vitriol there to startle you. Looks like he was following your gaze, since he’s glaring over at the two of them. The suited guy just raises an eyebrow and Dirk looks- well. It’s Dirk. Shamelessly unapologetic is pretty standard for him.

“Never,” he says, and impressively ignores the grumbled curses in his direction as the visitor heads for the door. You trail after and do your best to look like the cool older bro you literally are, as opposed to someone whose feathers got real ruffled just now. Your jimmies are making as much noise as a forest on a real windy day, but you don’t need to let that show. They’re calming down some, anyway. You even offer your hand to the guy (did you mention how nice his suit is? You could probably mention it more) at the door. At least you can feel your fingers after this one.

“Nice suit,” you tell him, and he looks startled and then faintly pleased. Score.

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes sweeping you over for just a moment. You’ve literally never been more grateful you pretty much always wear suits when you’re expecting to see people, and then sometimes when you’re not, because you don’t think this dude would be even remotely impressed with you in a ratty pair of flamingo patterned pajama pants and a T-shirt that says ‘BIG DADDY’ in chartreuse. Dirk got that one for you and you fucking love it and it’s in your closet here, and normally you would wear it with absolutely zero sense of shame, but perhaps not now.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Spades fucking Slick says, and shoulders right past the taller guy to get into the hallway. Both Dirk and Mr. Suit regard him with near identical expressions of what you’re pretty sure is indulgent exasperation. Oh, man.

“See you around,” Dirk says, and offers a wave. He nudges you a little, and taps at your wrist. Just once, brief, and your brain scrambles for a second because you’re still kind of freaked and trying to figure out how to bring it up with Dirk, and also when.

“Thanks for the two hours, six minutes, and ten seconds of your time,” you call out, and you’re pretty sure you see him twitch once, violently, and okay, the time shit was real but that’s also pretty fucking funny, to know you can get under someone’s skin by sheer dint of your weird ability to know what your watch is doing.

“Have a good evening,” Suit answers, but he’s smirking a little. His eyes flick between you and Dirk for a moment, and then down at his arm which is currently extended all the way out with metal fingers curled against his sleeve. He’ll need to hold on to the door cartoon-style if he wants to stick around, you figure. He doesn’t, and with a final tilt of his hand in goodbye, he lets himself get dragged away. You hear him grumble something out about wrinkling his suit and will let go already, I’m coming, all just barely over a cascade of cursing about microaggressions and dumb fucking Strider assholes, before Dirk shuts the door entirely.

The amusement lasts approximately (okay, exactly) 0.6 seconds before you turn to Dirk, who’s clearly expecting some kind of a brofist about a prank pretty well done and someone adequately fucked with.

“Did you tell him about Bro,” you blurt out instead, before you can even think about what you’re saying, and god, you’re usually a lot better about not running your mouth on specific topics (or running your mouth away from them), but apparently the goodbyes used up all your ability to act normal about anything, ever.

“Uh.” You watch Dirk tense and shift, and his face goes a little blank out of habit- okay, a lot blank, and you realize that you’ve got to be doing the same.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “We talked about it. My shit, specifically.”

“Okay. Just, checking. He said-,” you start, and then break off, because you really don’t even know where to begin. Maybe you imagined it and you’re the one having a meltdown? You feel like you got the short end of the stick if that’s the case, you definitely haven’t done enough drugs for a full on psychotic break- or the kind of drugs that fuck with your head enough for that, although you had one terrible acid trip like six years ago, but you’re pretty sure that’s not coming back to haunt your ass.

Dirk puts two and two together real quick, though, and you decide not to think about why that is. “Oh. Yeah, just- you can ignore that. He’s…not very good at talking to regular people,” is what he says after a bit of thinking, and god, if that isn’t a whole fucking understatement. “Actually, it’d be more accurate to say he’s not good at talking to any people. He’s not- socially gifted when it comes to meeting new people, let’s say. Granted, he doesn’t usually have to make polite conversation with new people often, especially outside of...work, which I consider to be a fair explanation, at least.”

And if _Dirk_ is the one saying that, you know it’s gotta be true. You're not fully sure why he keeps dancing around the work thing, but you also think that if he just outright went and said it, you'd flip your shit internally, so maybe it's for the best. Your bro's leaving you an open door to denial and you are slamming that fucking blue button and sprinting through it. Or something like that. 

“I said no,” you tell him. You don’t know why you feel the need to clarify that. Of course you said no, you’re not insane. Well. You don’t think you are. And you did say no.

“Of course you did,” Dirk says, and he offers you a small little smile. You don’t know why it makes you relax, but it sure does. Maybe fucked up judgement is contagious. “That wasn’t ever a question, dude. So, don’t worry about it. This wasn't like- anything work-related for him. Dude was here in a strictly personal capacity, and you said no so he’s not going to go out of his way to do anything about it. And by out of his way, I mean put the slightest effort towards it on your behalf. I’ll talk to him about saying shit like that, but. Does it help if I also say I’m pretty sure he offered because he likes you and was trying to be polite? Like. A cool 70% sure."

The apartment suddenly feels very quiet, and a little tense, and you realize with a start that your brother’s looking at you and he seems almost uncertain. This- really matters to him, huh. 

Poor sumbitch. You decide to have mercy and kill the awkward silence before his brain combusts or some shit. You’re good at compartmentalizing, and if it was an offer just to offer because of a good impression or some shit, you can at least focus on that because you already said no thanks and not ever, and there’s nothing that’s going to happen, so you can tell yourself it’s sort of flattering in a weird and extremely fucked up way. He a little confused, but he got the spirit, kind of way. Not the kind of supportive any regular person might want or need, but maybe the kind that’d be good to have at your back in a pinch. Not that you really think you’re going to be in that particular pinch, but if Dirk’s in any serious danger (and while it might be his not-boyfriend’s fault), his not-boyfriend’s probably going to get him out of it. You hope.

(You’re gonna put that shit in the shovel talk, though. Don’t endanger my kid brother else I’ll find a way to ruin you, just you wait. Yeah, that sounds good- you know how to be serious when you have to, and while you’re pretty sure tonight didn’t do you any favors in terms of intimidation, you were here as just plain old Dave. Director Strider’s a whole other can of worms, kettle of fish, weird container full of weirder animal.)

“Seems nice enough, right? Long as he doesn’t bring that shit up again, we’re cool, so you might as well go ahead and tell him I’m decently impressed to just nip that in the bud and then also maybe burn the bud and the whole plant before anything else happens,” you say, and it’s honestly ridiculous how some part of him just untenses. Makes something flare up all warm and protective in your chest, and you’ve never really been the type for guardian-related emotions that weren’t ‘oh fuck how do you parent’ or ‘Google, I’m 95% sure the kid is looking up where to buy uranium on the dark web’ or ‘do ten year olds need breast milk’, but- well. It’s Dirk, and he’s always strung so tight it makes _your_ back hurt in weird empathy.

“Yeah. He’s cool. They both are,” Dirk says. He’s not looking at you directly or anything, and you should probably point out that’s a hell of a tell alright, but you probably won’t. Not because he doesn’t need to hear it (he does, given how anal he can be sometimes about projecting total deadpan even without his shades), but because it’s 100% to your benefit if he doesn’t because this way you get to see him being a total fucking dork about the dudes he likes.

Not that he’d ever put it that way, but if the knee-high Converse fits.

“Yeah. Probably wouldn’t mind hanging out with them more,” you add, just to watch him try and hide a pleased smile. Total fucking dork, like you say. And if it helps you untense some too about the whole thing, that can be your dirty little secret. You do trust Dirk’s judgement, weirdly enough; he’s never been as reckless about shit as you can be. Plus Meeting 2: Electric Boogaloo is going to give you a chance to deal with this better prepared, with your real game face on and a revised shovel talk, and also probably suss things out better. Emphasis on probably. At the very least it’s gonna be less of a whole surprise that got sprung on you. “But, y’know. Small doses, yeah? And not until I rework my entire shovel talk, because meeting them sure fucking derailed that one.”

“Revolve your threats around how good you are at being a pain in the ass,” he suggests, and you shove him a little.

“I’ll piss in your soda, just you watch,” you warn him, and Dirk shoves back. You jostle each other comfortably on the way back to the couch, and you decide- you’re not going to worry too much about this whole thing, now that you’ve met the dudes in question. You’re going to maybe worry about a fuckton of other stuff, sure, but you figure your concern for Dirk’s general emotional well-being is going to stay right about where it is, and if it should be higher, well. You can leave that shit for Lalonde when you debrief her, that’s more her vibe than it is yours. Ain’t nobody going to call you mommy, that’s for sure.

But that’ll come later, at what you’re going to choose as the most inconvenient hour for her because what else is family for, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Slick and Dave feel like they've been hit over the head by a brick after this lmao


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen....Rose and Dave bantering is the best thing ever. I love it. More self-indulgence on my part.

\--- temporicidalGambit [TG] has started pestering tenebrousThaumaturge [TT]! --- 

TG: rose  
TG: rose  
TG: rose  
TG: grim  
TT: Yes, Dave?   
TT: I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight, as I thought you’d have messaged earlier.   
TG: the meeting thing is over and like  
TG: ok  
TG: you know how dirk talks about those weird dating sims or shows or whatever and i just nod uh huh yeah yeah waifu talk ok shes kinda cute  
TG: except the one that was weirdly meta and murderous or whatever  
TG: or the daddy one that cancel culture fucked over even though it was a fake ending or some shit   
TG: not that i played the daddy one that is  
TG: just watched him play it   
TG: and then gripe about it  
TT: Your propensity to finding hot older males attractive is nothing new, Dave. But yes, I’m aware of the concepts of dating simulation games and how they work.   
TT: Roxy is also quite fond of them, and we play them at times.   
TG: stop rubbing your weird game-critique and game-gaming podcast empire in my face lalonde its rude and also sad and not in your niche  
TG: you hate technology you want the dark ages back   
TG: you use a typewriter for fucks sake  
TG: like why are you and rox and also sometimes dirk and that one friend of theirs playing dnd without me and also via skype or whatever  
TG: this is some mad fuckin unfair shit yknow  
TT: It’s because you’re always busy, and the one time you joined, you did derail things rather spectacularly.   
TT: But you’ve never had quite the flair that I do for the particularly grimdark storylines, nor the cyberpunk ones the children favor.   
TT: It’s quite unfortunate, really.   
TT: At least Roxy’s young lady friend has an appreciation for fantasy settings, even if she favors a more…homebrew approach.   
TT: I’m told that’s what it’s called. I’d rather consider it ‘porridge’ fantasy, similar to how the sci-fi author Xia Jia describes her own work, where the science is but a thin veneer over deeper metaphysical and psychological explorations.   
TG: ugh gross stop that  
TG: i didnt come here for literary references ok  
TT: I still have no idea what it is you came here for, Dave.   
TT: You’ve been less than forthcoming on the matter, beyond launching into an unrealized tangent on dating simulation games.   
TG: fuck off youre the one who took that and ran with it  
TG: give the conversational baton back lalonde were getting this shit back on topic or so help me god  
TG: or in your case evil lovecraftian tentacled beings from outside the universe i guess  
TG: log sawtooth or whatever   
TG: praise him  
TT: Firstly, it’s vastly incorrect to apply human moralities to cosmic entities on that scale. It would be like applying the morality of a microbe to us.   
TT: Secondly. The being you’re referring to is, I assume, Yog-Sothoth, and he does originate from within the universe, and in fact originated with it. Purportedly. Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God, is the one outside reality as we know it, and must be kept so.   
TT: Thirdly, even if they existed, I doubt they would be inclined to help you keep this conversation on topic.   
TT: But I will refrain from any further corrections if you promise to read anything outside Lovecraft’s original writings. Which, while conceptually grand, fall terribly short in other ways.   
TG: its ok you can just say he was a huge racist  
TT: He was a huge racist, Dave.   
TG: there we go  
TT: And honestly, who decides that, after saying something cannot be described in the language of men, or any language, because it’s utterly indescribable, the best thing to do is to hurl an entire dictionary of adjectives at it?   
TT: Who, Dave?   
TT: Not only is it beyond unnecessary, but I feel it’s entirely contradictory. Good horror often relies on the user’s imagination; very little is scarier than what someone can come up with on their own, once given the barest of hints.   
TT: That’s the entire point of fearing the unknown.   
TT: Honestly, I do wish we’d stop calling it Lovecraftian horror. That British podcast takes his ideas and then goes about making them knowable quite well.   
TG: fucksake lalonde focus  
TG: put your hateboner away  
TT: Fine. But only for now.   
TG: ok anyway  
TG: the meeting  
TT: Ah, yes. Dirk’s beau.   
TG: rose you wouldnt believe  
TG: ok i barely believe  
TG: uhh  
TG: rose hes fucking terrifying   
TT: By your standards, or by the standards of the general population?   
TG: ok damn you don’t need to be a huge bitch about it im no coward  
TG: by the general standards i mean  
TG: not by dirk standards probably the only thing that scares him is something happening to a horse probably  
TT: Very true.   
TT: Would he be considered terrifying by my standards, then?   
TG: ugh ugh probs not  
TG: actually no definitely not  
TG: i remember your reaction when kanaya pulled out that chainsaw and it sure wasnt the appropriate ‘wow thats horrifying’ you useless lesbian  
TG: but youre not scared of anything except what ill do when i get my nasty grubby screenwriting hands on cotl for a movovie adaptation  
TT: Excuse me for being attracted to my then-girlfriend and having that amplified by her incredible competence with a chainsaw.   
TT: Although I will say that it’s cute you think I fear you. Why would I fear a project that’s never going to come to fruition?   
TG: rose rose rose  
TG: you underestimate my power im p sure  
TT: You underestimate the strength of my legal team.   
TG: we have the same fuckin legal team lalonde and she licks everything like that cant be right  
TT: If her licking keeps your disgusting Hollywood trash from contaminating my art, so be it. I’ll accept it.   
TG: so cruel  
TT: In any event, I suppose I have deep existential fears, as well as more mundane ones shared by any parent.   
TG: well  
TG: iunno if these dudes fit either of those   
TG: more a violence pain kinda scary  
TG: well the suit guys intimidating in a different way and also a hotter way but that way is real competence based so it just feeds back into the intimidation  
TG: he seems like the guy who irons his socks   
TT: Suit guy who irons his socks.   
TT: Your descriptiveness is astounding, Dave.   
TG: well no one ever told me his name but i can guess it but im not facing that fact right now or ever  
TG: i would literally rather deal with the fact that my kid brother can get two (2) whole boyfriends and i cant get one   
TG: sure im not really looking and also too busy for one and also dont super want one but still  
TG: like ok theyre doing this pretense that theyre not boyfriends and the word was never ever uttered but  
TG: rose it is so fuckin weird  
TG: so  
TG: fucking  
TG: weird  
TG: you know im serious cause i included the g in that one  
TT: Well, I think you’re going to need to explain in more detail what precisely you find strange about it.   
TG: well them being who they kinda are  
TG: like ok sure i could be mistaken but i went and googled it afterwards and literally if theres other one-robot-armed-and-eyepatched dude with a black hat around ill eat the hat  
TG: take it right off his head and eat the whole thing  
TT: That’s fair.   
TT: What else?   
TG: its dirk dating its never not gonna be weird  
TT: Also fair.   
TT: He has…interesting tastes.   
TG: haha  
TG: lalonde you can just say he has shit taste in men its ok  
TT: I wouldn’t want to speak so poorly of my other nephew, really.   
TG: hes my own brother and were both right so we should say it  
TG: no booing  
TG: besides we cant all have the bar set as high as you do i guess but then again once you snort netherweed off madonnas sagging tits theres nowhere to go but up  
TT: Bold of you to assume that wasn’t the best moment of my life until Roxy’s birthday and my wedding day.   
TG: best moment of your single life?   
TT: Acceptable.   
TG: ive still got the pics anyway  
TT: You do not.   
TG: sure do lalonde  
TT: Delete them.   
TG: fuck no  
TG: you have like ten eternitys worth of blackmail material on me and you want me to get rid of like 10% of my blackmail material on you?   
TG: the balance has gotta be preserved  
TT: If you ever truly succeed in pulling one over on me, I think the universe will end.   
TG: fuck all the way off   
TG: just for that im gonna show roxy the pics  
TT: And I’ll tell Dirk about our first meeting.   
TG: go right ahead yo i embarrass myself in front of him enough as is your weird bond with him aint gonna make that worse  
TG: anyway back to business yeah  
TT: It’s for the best.   
TT: You were saying that it was strange?   
TG: yeah  
TG: im  
TG: not really sure how im meant to be reacting to it  
TG: like yeah i met the dudes and it was kinda weird but not bad weird or super awkward or anything  
TG: deadass we looked at some of those old pics ive got of dirk when he came to live with me   
TT: Neatly checking off the trope of showing the embarrassing baby pictures.   
TG: hey i didnt do it with zero prompting ok i was asked  
TG: i never need to be asked but this time i was asked  
TG: yeah but like iunno im p sure this aint amazing or anything like im supposed to be thrilled hes dating two dudes with wanted posters but at the same time its not like…anyones ever gone and done shit about them either  
TG: anyway im also kinda pissed he didnt say exactly who it was but i get why cause i wouldve absolutely flipped my shit over it and i cant imagine the meeting thing wouldve gone ok because of that  
TG: and dirks always been cryptic as fuck about it so like  
TG: was he doing it deliberately to keep me chill or was it just how he always is   
TG: fuck if i know  
TT: Likely some of both. Are you upset about that?   
TG: maybe?   
TG: like the different name he got introduced by was definitely dirks brain turning into slime for five seconds before he decided he could use it to fuck with the both of us so im not pissy about that or anything cause i did join in on that joke real happily  
TG: iunno i wouldve gone into it with real different expectations by which i mean id have had four bodyguards and like broken out some of those shitty swords i know hes got lying around   
TG: not that itd have done me a fuckton of good but yknow  
TG: instead he kinda just sprung it on me and i was kinda chill about it in the moment but now its like  
TG: ugh  
TG: except im gonna keep being kinda chill about it cause ive met the guy now and its too fuckin late to be all hey what the fuck who are you dating  
TG: and yknow based on what the good ol’ internet says uh  
TG: its like i met a whole other person tbh  
TT: Really?   
TG: yeah like i saw him and it took a little bit to click  
TG: (and like a lot of dick jokes dont ask)   
TG: but at the same time he wasnt yknow batshit crazy or anything either  
TG: like it would not be hard to think he was just some regular dude with a short fuse n shit yknow  
TT: Ah, yes. The discrepancy between someone’s reputation and their real personality.   
TT: I imagine he faced the same issue with you.   
TG: yeah i guess so   
TG: he was….pretty much what dirk said hed be like actually except maybe slightly less angry and no knives  
TG: which yknow i thought was weird to warn me about except now i fully fuckin get why he did  
TG: man was he just spelling it out for me and did i not notice or  
TG: doesnt matter  
TG: anyway dirk can make his own decisions hes 25 for fucks sake  
TG: god rose parenting sucks ass   
TT: Do you want to intervene, then?   
TG: yes  
TG: no  
TG: were going back to my original dating sim point here before you went and distracted me  
TG: hes the ultimate bad end waifu so i should but   
TT: I didn’t distract you, you distracted yourself. But I’ll concede to following along with your tangents.   
TT: Dirk wouldn’t necessarily appreciate it.   
TT: Perhaps you could simply speak to him about the risks involved.   
TG: yeah rose cause he didnt do 5 mental risk assessments before getting into whatever the fuck this is and doesnt do another 5 every single day  
TG: im sure he knows the “““risks involved”””   
TG: hell im sure hes gone and invented like 100 new risks while hes at it  
TT: That would be quite like him, yes.   
TG: yeah  
TG: iunno  
TG: id think this is his weird teenage rebellion shit but too late if he was the kinda dude to do any of that but hes not and we both know that  
TG: and even if it was what the fuck could i do  
TG: hes always been so   
TG: self sufficient i guess?   
TG: never had to do a lot of parenting and yeah i guess thats probably for the best and all cause god knows how id have fucked that one up but   
TG: mightve prepared me better for this i guess  
TG: and im not gonna get all weird and pushy either when it aint wanted cause things are good right now  
TG: its  
TG: its real weird  
TG: and dont give me that oh youre so eloquent shit rose theres sweet fuck all else i can say to describe this other than weird  
TG: the weirdest bit is that like  
TG: and this is gonna sound insane  
TG: either dirk talked to him or he wanted to make a good impression and i dont know which is weirder  
TG: but he was like trying to be nice  
TG: and im of course always nice   
TG: also he hates clocks  
TG: thats a whole ass thing that was an elephant in the room for me  
TT: You, getting along with someone who hates clocks?   
TT: Shocking.   
TG: on the grand scale of things he sure aint any clout chaser thats for sure  
TT: And on the smaller scale of things he’s a notoriously violent mobster?   
TG: yeah  
TG: with a nice hat  
TT: Well. A lot can be forgiven for a nice hat.   
TT: And you did say his acquaintance had a lovely suit.   
TG: rose dont let your wifes eye for fashion get in the way here  
TT: Dave, I’m frankly having a difficult time deciding whether or not you want me to be opposed to this or not.   
TG: youre supposed to be telling me how opposed to it i should be actually   
TG: cmon lalonde after all this time culturing your (totally fuckin wrong) image of the responsible one this is literally what youve been waiting for  
TG: youve been waiting for me to follow your judgement like one of those newly born ducks and their duck mom  
TG: im a fluffy yellow ingenue here and youre the jaded older duck mommy   
TG: *mom  
TG: fucksake  
TT: I think it’s best if I overlook that particular trainwreck of an analogy for now and answer the question.   
TT: I am, on a purely legal level.   
TG: only on a legal level??   
TT: No. I dislike the danger he represents. But Dirk is, as you said, an adult capable of making his own decisions.   
TT: And it’s fairly obvious from everything I know that Dirk does trust him, and we both know that isn’t something lightly given.   
TG: yeah thats the weirdest fuckin thing i think  
TG: like what the hell went on that they now kinda trust each other because let me tell you i didnt think id meet anyone more suspicious than dirk and yet here we are and theyre dating each other  
TT: I’ve no idea.   
TG: like  
TG: rose im p sure he went and told him about bro  
TG: a lot of shit about bro  
TG: well he also offered to kill bro for me which was a big what the fuck moment because in what world is that a normal thing to just say to someone   
TG: obviously i said no i mean holy fucking shit  
TG: but the murder offer was not as weird as realizing that dirk talked to him about it and ???   
TG: why  
TG: how  
TG: im literally sure his therapist had to tie him down and roofie him or some shit to get him to discuss it and yet  
TT: That’s. Certainly interesting.   
TG: yeah  
TG: i mean he didnt know any specifics about me and like i dont  
TG: dirk wouldnt bring my shit into it i dont think  
TT: He wouldn’t necessarily need to. It’s not difficult to extrapolate that you would’ve undergone similar treatment.   
TG: yeah  
TT: But your inner conflict is quite understandable. And oddly enough, from what I gather he’s a bit of a gentleman. Though you should never mention it to him. It is chivalrous in a sort of terrible way, isn’t it? Not to mention oddly difficult to protest Dirk having someone present looking out for him. In that specific way.   
TG: i mean yeah like weirdly enough it seemed he was content to just leave it if im gonna just leave it  
TG: but also  
TG: from what you gather  
TG: what have you gathered  
TG: why are you always gathering  
TG: what is this the stone age  
TT: Yes, and my dearest bride is very much the hunter. As is my daughter, I suppose. She’s a very good shot, you know.   
TT: So it falls to me to gather berries and herbs for various concoctions.   
TG: im p fuckin sure the berries and herbs were just for eating not ominious witchy shit just so you know  
TT: I’m sure you think that.   
TG: youre trying to distract me from the gathering thing arent you  
TT: Hardly. I’m simply answering your question regarding the current era, and speculating as to the roles that would be occupied if I were the gatherer. Hunter-gathers do require hunters, as paleoarchaeology tells us.   
TG: dont try and condescendingly appeal to my love of paleoarchaeology and its old bones to get out of this one lalonde  
TG: am i literally the last one to know about this  
TG: have you just been playing this cruel game waiting until i found out  
TG: laughing  
TG: well cackling really  
TG: riding around on your broomstick and whispering worries in my ear while i sleep  
TG: to the tune of careless whisper on sax  
TT: You’re being ridiculous.   
TG: thats my fuckin brand babey  
TT: Touché.   
TT: But I doubt you’re the last one to hear about it. Dirk’s a terribly private person, after all. He hasn’t actually told me himself.   
TG: that sounds like a whole-ass lie actually  
TG: because you clearly know and not just cause ive told you  
TT: Dave, you’re aware that Roxy told me about this some time ago, right?   
TG: WHAT  
TG: no i very obviously did not  
TT: Ah. Well, she did.   
TT: Although I believe her meeting was rather accidental, if it helps any.   
TT: So you are technically the first to know that Dirk outright told, and also the first where he specifically arranged a meeting with all the usual connotations one would expect from a romantic relationship.   
TT: Despite its unconventional nature and the lack of acknowledgement about the romance, in this case.   
TG: ok i guess that one does help  
TG: but only a little  
TG: cause i did at least weasel some deets outta him   
TT: Stop bragging, will you?   
TG: haha never  
TG: my ego is forever and boy is it hungry   
TT: So you say.   
TG: though im not too pissy at dirk cause he did tell me the bones even if he was doing some real secret identity shit the whole thing and the bones didnt lie rose  
TG: the bones never lie  
TG: but how long have you known and also why didnt you say anything  
TT: Unfortunately, it appears that I have some work to do, though this conversation has been quite enlightening. Inspiration has struck.   
TT: I of course appreciate your account of the situation.   
TT: I’ll speak to you tomorrow, Dave.   
TT: Perhaps make a trip to visit my lovely daughter, too. I’ll be sure to bring my knitting, if you can arrange another talk. I still have my reservations, after all, and so do you; perhaps another tête-à- tête will help us reach a consensus and resolution to all our satisfactions.   
TT: Good night. 

\--- tenebrousThaumaturge [TT] has stopped pestering temporicidalGambit [TG]! ---

TG: no  
TG: goddammit lalonde get back here  
TG: you cant avoid this topic forever   
TG: you know you cant  
TG: you were warned bro you know im gonna be riding your ass hard about this so watch out  
TG: i need my answers and youre gonna give em   
TG: at some point  
TG: when you get back from being bare ass naked in the forest at the new moon and reenacting blair witch and see these messages   
TG: you cant ignore me forever  
TG: also  
TG: you dont need to come visit  
TG: keep those nightmare needles at home holy fuck the guy already only has one eye   
TG: fucksake  
TG: whatever go do your weird witch shit  
TG: night and those bedbugs better bite

\--- temporicidalGambit [TG] has stopped pestering tenebrousThaumaturge [TT]! ---


End file.
